


Weekend Getaway

by robinwritesallthethings



Series: Reader-Insert Collection [61]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Body Image, F/M, Mental Health Issues, Reader-Insert, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:22:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22280239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robinwritesallthethings/pseuds/robinwritesallthethings
Summary: You misunderstand an invitation from Malcolm and then inadvertently make a confession.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/Reader
Series: Reader-Insert Collection [61]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1932715
Comments: 2
Kudos: 76





	Weekend Getaway

You look up from your desk as you hear a noise and your hand automatically flies to your gun. As far as you know, you’re the only one left in the precinct this late.

You get up, quickly switching off the lamp and freeing your gun from its holster. You pad silently across the carpeted floor and swing around the corner. The order to stop is on the tip of your tongue when the intruder throws his hands up and smiles at you sheepishly.

“It’s just me. Don’t shoot. Please.”

You sigh. “Malcolm, you scared the shit out of me,” you admonish him.

But you’re smiling so he’ll know you’re not really upset. Out of anyone who could have joined you at this hour, or any hour, he’s at the top of your list.

The two of you have been dancing around each other for months. You’re fairly certain he knows you’re flirting with him, but he’s holding back, and you can guess why. He’s not a person who opens up easily. He thinks no one would put up with all of his problems.

You know it wouldn’t be easy, but you’re willing to. Maybe one day you’ll have the courage to tell him.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “I didn’t think anyone else would be here. Though, actually, I’m glad you’re here.”

“You are? Why?”

“Well, um.” He rubs the back of his neck and smiles awkwardly, his eyes wide and sparkling. They’re always intense, but beautiful. “I’m going to, uh, a cabin this weekend and I… want you to come with me.”

“You want me to go to a cabin with you this weekend, Malcolm?”

You want to make sure you heard him right. It’s late, and his request is unusual. You’re almost convinced that you’re dreaming.

“Yes,” he assures you. “If you want to, I mean.”

You shrug nonchalantly. You don’t want to seem too excited and freak him out. If you’re going to have a whole romantic weekend together, you’ll have plenty of time to talk and ease into everything.

“I’d love to, Malcolm,” you finally answer. “A weekend getaway would be nice.”

The rest of the week seems to simultaneously drag and fly by. You spend most of the time packing just the right things to bring. You have to be prepared for every situation, since anything could happen when Malcolm is involved.

Plus, you want to make sure you look your best. Obviously, if Malcolm’s interested, he doesn’t mind that you’re bigger, but you still want to put your best foot forward.

At work, you’re confident and self-assured. You know you’re smart and good at what you do. But when it comes to dating, you’re much more insecure. You’ve just been burned too many times. You hope that Malcolm will change that.

As you thought he might, he rings your bell ten minutes early. You buzz him in and he excitedly says hello, immediately grabbing your bags. You’re flattered that he’s so eager to start your weekend together.

You let him talk as you follow him down the stairs. The conversations you want to have will be much better when he’s a captive audience, though you’re never sure that’s entirely guaranteed with Malcolm. You wouldn’t put it past him to jump out of a moving car if he was too uncomfortable, and you already insisted on driving since he blacks out sometimes.

You load into the car as he turns on the GPS. City traffic is a little hectic, but once you’re out of the city, the cars thin and the drive becomes nice.

“So, um, what are our plans?” you ask quietly, making sure not to startle him. You hadn’t talked about anything beyond how to get to your destination earlier this week.

He looks over at you absentmindedly. “Oh. Uh, well, just look around, I guess. Then see where it goes from there?”

You chuckle. “Haven’t thought it through much, have you?”

He shakes his head. “No, not really. Too nervous, I guess. I’m… more of a planner. It keeps me sane. Sort of,” he amends without prompting. “But it’s kind of hard to plan ahead for something like this.”

You nod. “It’s easy when you can imagine it going exactly how you want,” you agree. “But once you’re actually in the situation and having to deal with the variables, it’s a lot different.”

He sighs in relief. He must be happy that you understand where he’s coming from. You have to admit that it makes you less nervous to know he’s nervous too.

The daylight is fading, even though it’s still early. As you turn on the car’s headlights, you notice that snow is starting to fall. At first, it’s light, but it quickly becomes thick and starts to blanket the road in front of you.

Malcolm quickly turns on a weather station and you both frown as you listen to the announcement of a massive blizzard starting basically right over you and lasting the entire night and into tomorrow.

“I think we should stop before the snow gets too bad, Malcolm,” you suggest.

He looks panicked at the idea. “No, no, we have to get there tonight. We can make it.”

“Malcolm, I don’t think so,” you say sympathetically. “We’re only halfway there, and the snow is already falling almost too hard to see.”

As Malcolm sputters and continues to protest, clearly fixated on the cabin, you turn into the next available building, which luckily happens to be a hotel. You park and get out, your feet sinking into the snow. You circle the car to open Malcolm’s door, reaching in to take his hand.

“Come on, Malcolm,” you say soothingly. “Let’s get inside and out of the cold.”

He nods numbly, taking your hand and stepping out into the snow. You pop the trunk and he mechanically helps grab the bags, then follows you.

You head to the desk while he waits, quickly returning to his side with one key in your hand. “They only had one room left, but I got it.”

You leave out that it only has one bed in it. It’s a king, at least. You figure you’ll talk about that later once you’ve had a chance to discuss your new relationship.

You steer Malcolm to the elevator. He’s silent the whole way, his brow furrowed like he’s trying to solve a problem. You’re not exactly sure what the problem is, but you’ll probably find out eventually.

You unlock the door to the hotel room and get Malcolm and all the bags inside. He immediately starts pacing and running his hands through his hair. You sit on the end of the bed and watch him for a moment before finally asking, “What’s wrong, Malcolm?”

He stops abruptly and turns to face you. “Everything is ruined,” he sighs. “All my plans.”

He shoves his hands into his pockets and scuffs his toe against the carpet. You stand and gently put your hands on his upper arms, squeezing comfortingly. “Malcolm, it’s fine. We may not have made it to the cabin, but we’re still somewhere together. And we are out of the city. Granted, not very far out, but still out.”

“But it doesn’t matter if we’re not at the cabin,” he says in frustration. “I was going to find something there, I just know it. Something my father forgot about, or hid, thinking that I wouldn’t be able to find it. I can’t look for it if I’m not there.”

You have a lot of practice controlling your expression, but now you can’t prevent your face from falling as the truth crashes down on you.

This weekend wasn’t about the two of you. Malcolm was asking you to come along while he investigated his father’s old cabin, the one where he remembered encountering Paul Lazar when he was a child. And while it’s flattering that he wanted your help with something so personal, you can’t help but be disappointed.

You step back from him, sliding your hands into your pockets and lowering your head, biting your lip hard so you don’t start crying. How could you have been so stupid? You thought that Malcolm was just being his usual awkward self, but clearly your own imagination had completely blown his behavior out of proportion.

You have to say something. You want to comfort him, because he clearly needs it, but you just can’t seem to summon any words at the moment. A few minutes ago, being stuck in a hotel room with only one bed with Malcolm Bright seemed like a dream come true. Now it’s more of a nightmare.

Suddenly, Malcolm’s kneeling in front of you. “Hey,” he says softly, lifting your chin so he’s looking into your eyes. “What’s wrong? You checked out on me.”

You have never wanted to lie more than you do right now. The problem is that your brain just won’t cooperate.

“I’m so stupid, Malcolm,” you start, your voice shaky. “I thought you were asking me on a romantic weekend, not a… a… solve your personal psychological crisis weekend.” You wince as you realize how that must sound and quickly move to correct it. “Not that I’m not flattered, Malcolm. I know that you don’t share your personal life with many people, and I’m happy to help, really I am. I just… I thought that someone finally wanted me, even though I’m too big, and…” You suck in a breath. You can’t keep going, or you’ll start crying and never stop. “It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.”

Malcolm frowns as he looks up at you. His eyes are steady, but you can practically see the gears turning in his brain. He’s running over what he said to you in his head and trying to see it from a different perspective.

Once he’s done, he bites his lip and looks at you apologetically. “I didn’t think about how it sounded,” he murmurs. “I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head, the tears closer to the surface than ever. “Don’t apologize, Malcolm. You’re not obligated to feel the same way I do.” You push on in a rush, not even sure what you’re saying. “Just because I love you doesn’t mean you have to love me back.”

His eyes get wide to match yours as you both realize what you’ve just said. You slide down past him on the bed so you can stand up and race to the door. You fumble with the handle as you hear him following you, but he catches your elbow before you can run away into the hallway.

“Don’t go. Please.”

He turns you gently to look at him, but you don’t meet his eyes. You can’t. You can’t stand the thought of one more person telling you they can’t love you because of the way you look. And that has to be what he’s about to say. He’s smart and handsome and rich and fit, and you are none of those things. He deserves someone better than you.

“I have feelings for you too,” Malcolm says hurriedly, obviously sensing that you’re on the edge of a meltdown. “I’m just, well, afraid of them,” he confesses.

You’re stunned. It’s hard for you to believe that he has feelings for you, but even harder for you to believe that he’s admitting his fear of them. It’s not that he acts immune to his own emotions most of the time, but he doesn’t like to be obvious about his vulnerability if he doesn’t have to be.

“There’s just one thing I don’t understand,” he continues. “What did you mean when you said too big?”

You gesture to yourself without thinking. “My body. Too big,” you clarify, deciding not to go into detail. He has eyes, after all.

“Oh,” Malcolm says faintly, laughing and blushing. “I don’t think you’re too big at all,” he assures you. “I think you’re perfect.”

“Now you’re just teasing,” you deflect, turning your face away from him.

“I’m really not,” he persists, turning your chin so you’re looking at him again. “Why don’t we settle in for the night?” he suggests. “Get to know each other. Figure out where we want… us… to go. Or… if you want us to go,” he corrects himself.

“And if the weather is good tomorrow, we’ll try to make it to the cabin,” you promise.

“We don’t have to do that,” he tells you quickly.

“Malcolm, I don’t mind doing that with you. It’s just not what I thought we were doing. But I know how important it is to you, and I want to help.”

“Okay.”

He smiles and you head back into the room together. A quick exploration reveals a kitchenette, and a call to the hotel desk and a generous tip gets them to deliver ingredients instead of a prepared meal. Malcolm laughs as you show him how to make one of your favorite recipes, spaghetti and eggs. You’ll freely admit that it’s a little weird, but it’s simple and delicious, which he agrees with once you’re eating.

When the time comes to go to bed, Malcolm wants to take the floor and have you tie him up somehow, but you refuse. He gingerly gets into the bed beside you, laying flat and letting you rest your head on his chest.

In the darkness, he’s finally able to reveal what he’s really worried about. “I don’t think you’re going to want to put up with me. I’ve got a lot of problems.”

“I know you do, Malcolm. And it’s okay. I want to help you work through them. Be supportive. I don’t think it’s a good enough reason for us to stay apart.”

He huffs. “You might change your mind if I have a night terror,” he murmurs.

“Just try and relax,” you soothe him. “It will be all right.”

“This is nice,” he whispers, his arm squeezing you a little tighter.

You fall asleep like that. You wake up a few hours later because Malcolm’s tossing and turning next to you. You lean over, touching his cheek gently and urging him to wake up in a soft, sweet voice.

His eyes snap open and he looks up at you in wonder. “It was just a bad dream,” you tell him. “That’s all. Nothing to worry about.”

“It wasn’t the dream I usually have,” he whispers curiously. Before you can ask, he cups your cheek in his hand and pulls you closer. “I dreamt you were gone,” he admits. “And I don’t want that dream to come true.”

You smile, about to tell him that you won’t leave, when he kisses you. It certainly wasn’t what you were expecting, but it’s not unwelcome.

Nor is it unwelcome when he rolls you beneath him and his kisses grow more urgent.

It was a strange path to take here, for sure, but you give in to him happily. It’s almost Christmas, and you’re thinking that Malcolm Bright might just be your gift.


End file.
